


Okay, This Looks Bad

by EvilKitten42



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton is a disaster and I love him for it, Gen, I was too busy making bad jokes, Mild description of bad coffee, Mild description of injuries, Not Age of Ultron Compliant, Probably too much description of a bad novelty mug, The shipping is only mild in this I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilKitten42/pseuds/EvilKitten42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bad day?” Steve asks.<br/>“Normal Monday, really.” Clint shrugs, even though it definitely appears to hurt him. “Can I ask why you own a mug that says ‘Foxy Grandpa’?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okay, This Looks Bad

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this in... Maybe May of last year? At the very least that's the last time I edited it. I had plans for this to be a scene in a longer fic, but this was the only scene from that Grand Idea that had any traction so I decided to tack on a quick ending and post it as is! I'm sort of proud of it, though, so please enjoy my bad jokes and Clint's solitary yet blatant misuse of text speak  
> Title obviously stolen from Matt Fraction's "Hawkeye" comics, because I ran out of ideas

Steve has, in his very considerable time on this Earth, dealt with lots of what many would deem Weird Things.

Being woken up by the sound of Clint Barton stumbling and swearing into Steve's apartment in the middle of the night doesn't even make the top 20, but it's still not exactly what he was planning on dealing with on his pseudo-day off from being a hero.

By the time he's wandered through his apartment and into the kitchen, Clint’s already sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, and he looks like he’s just been spat out by a blender. He takes a gulp from his mug (and even from the doorway Steve can smell that the coffee in it is pitch-black and probably has 8 shots of espresso in it. Clint doesn’t do coffee by halves) and when he sets it back down there’s a streak of blood on it from where his lip has started bleeding sluggishly. He frowns slightly, but makes no move to wipe the blood off his mug or to stop it from coming out of the gash on his lip.

He is, in every definition of the word, a mess.

“Bad day?” Steve asks, because the last time he tried treating Clint slightly gentler after a mission he’d ended up being sworn at very, very creatively. Plus, it’s his kitchen, and he’s 99% sure he never gave Clint a key, so he’s allowed to be a little snarky when he’s technically dealing with a trespasser. (A trespasser he saves the world with, occasionally, but a trespasser none the less.)

“Normal Monday, really.” Clint shrugs, even though it definitely appears to hurt him. “Can I ask why you own a mug that says ‘Foxy Grandpa’?” He holds up the mug, the bright red lettering clear against the white of the cup, new blood smudge addition and all.

“Tony got it.” Steve ducks his head slightly. “It’s Bucky’s, actually.”

Clint raises an eyebrow.

“You two are a piece of work.” He sighs as he slurps down more coffee.

“Says you.” Steve raises an eyebrow right back. Clint huffs a laugh and puts the mug down again. Steve really hopes he washes the blood off properly before Bucky uses it again. It’s his favourite mug. “Seriously, you look like you got hit with the business end of a meat tenderiser.”

“Would you believe me if I said that was basically what happened?”

“I’d been in 2012 for maybe ten minutes before I was being asked to fight aliens with a team of super heroes.” Steve shrugs. “I’ll believe pretty much anything.”

“Point.” Clint says and scrubs his hands over his face. Steve can now see that the hand that was holding the mug has left a grimy print on the side. Maybe he should just get Bucky a new mug. “Urgh.”

“Is this one of those super special missions you’re not allowed to tell anyone about?” Steve asks, flicking the kettle on as he walks past to get at the First Aid kit he keeps on top of the fridge. He’s learned the hard way that, when you’re with the Avengers, it pays to have medical supplies in every room.

“It definitely involved me punching a robot.” Clint beams at him, lip still bleeding, and Steve wishes he were more surprised that this is what his life has become. “But that’s really all I can say. Soz.”

“You’re too old for that word.” Steve sets the kit on the island next to the mug. He putters around making himself a cup of tea while Clint raises his eyebrows at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Did you just tell me, a strapping secret agent in his prime-” Clint half glares when Steve sniggers at that. “In his _prime_ , that I am too old for something? You are _ninety-six_.”

“I am also not bleeding all over someone else’s kitchen fixtures.” Steve shoots Clint a questioning look while he dumps some sugar in his cup. “Can I ask why you’re getting _my_ stuff dirty, by the way?”

“Your concern warms the cockles of my heart.” Clint deadpans and gulps down more coffee. He shrugs with one shoulder again, although this time it obviously doesn’t hurt as much. “You were closer than anyone else. And if I go back to the Tower right now Stark might just cry.”

Steve just nods. Tony’s weird thing about germs that weren’t his own only got weirder the longer you knew him and, in all honesty, Steve would probably also choose bleeding on an acquaintance’s furniture over being shrieked at by Tony Stark at 1am.

“Did I wake you up?” Clint blinks, as if suddenly realising that Steve’s wearing pyjama pants and a sweater that is, miraculously, too big for him. Steve stops pouring the boiled water in his cup in favour of staring at Clint incredulously.

“I tend to notice people breaking into my apartment and swearing their heads off, nowadays.” Steve deadpans and finishes pouring. Clint makes an indignant noise.

“I am silent as the night.” He grumps. Steve doesn’t respond and after a beat Clint’s shoulders droop slightly. “Well, I wasn’t swearing that _loudly_.”

“Yah-huh.” Steve grins. “You’re lucky you were so loud. If I hadn’t known it was you I probably would have pounced.”

“I could take you.” Clint smiles, still bleeding from the face.

“Is that,” Bucky grits out from where he’s standing in the kitchen doorway, still in full mission uniform. Both Steve and Clint jump, but Clint nearly falls off his seat. “My mug?”

“Um.” Clint replies, eloquent as ever. Steve has to admit, Bucky always looks pretty damn intimidating after a mission, and he’s staring at the bloodied mug like he can eradicate Clint’s mess with just his glare. He probably could. “It was the first one I grabbed?”

Bucky just keeps glaring. Steve takes a sip of his tea.

“I’ll get you a new one?” Clint offers instead. Bucky’s lips thin. “I had a rough day, can you please not end it by killing me over a novelty mug?”

“Buck.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him. He’s not quite sure _why_ Bucky became attached to the dumb thing, but he is 99% sure that no reason he comes up with could condone murdering Steve’s trespasser/occasional world saving buddy.

Bucky lets out an irritated sigh through his nose.

“I expect it to be spotless by morning.” Bucky grumbles as he stalks into the room and grabs another mug to pour the last of the coffee in to. Clint lets out a silent sigh in relief. “Patch yourself up, Barton, blood stains are a shit to get out.”

Clint blinks and looks over at the First Aid kit Steve had put beside him. He looks like he’s only just realising it’s there. Steve is starting to question whether or not it wouldn’t be prudent to call Nat or Kate in to take him home and make sure he survives the night.

“Will you kill me if I ruin your upholstery?” Clint asks. Bucky looks like he’s legitimately thinking it over. Steve’s life is so weird.

“I’ll let it pass ‘cause you know all the good pizza places.” Bucky shrugs, just as Clint’s beginning to look slightly concerned for himself.

“Be grateful for that.” Steve smiles as Bucky hops up onto the kitchen counter next to him, bumping his arm against Steve’s shoulder and kissing the top of his head before he settles. “That’s the closest he’ll get to admitting he likes you.”

“I’m honoured.” Clint deadpans, hands already full of bandages.

Steve smiles.


End file.
